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capslocked · 11 months

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KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you’ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight.

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

#hyewon smut #izone smut #izone hyewon smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

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bloodiedrogue · 1 year

Text

PAINFUL VULNERABILITIES (5)

SUMMARY: When your past begins to blend into your present, you find yourself longing for Astarion's comfort.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,648

WARNINGS: ANGST, hurt/comfort, body horror elements, descriptions of torture involving a knife, panic attack, sort of made up Illithid lore??? (I promise there's comfort in the end, I'm sorry!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Day 5 literally doesn't have a prompt because this idea got terribly out of hand so let's just ignore that and enjoy the angst, shall we?

(Also again, a lot of people's tags weren't working so next time if you haven't fixed it I will be taking you off the list because taglists are a bitch!)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The nightmares start a few days later.

At first, they’re subtle. Wisps of darkness cloud your thoughts, leaving no memory behind. Silently it lingers, creeping through your skull in waves that inevitably crash against the shore, ripping you awake —leaving you breathless each time you’re left gasping for air in your dishevelled bedroll. When it happens, it always makes you jolt up to look around, trying to find the cause of your plague. The reason why you’re suddenly so wary to lay your head each night.

When you reach the Underdark they only get worse.

What were once forgotten memories become recurring torments. Endless onslaughts of clawed hands that scratch at your flesh, pulling back skin in massive chunks that pluck excitedly at your insides.

Thanks to the powers of the Illithid you feel every movement. Every poke and prod slips through you like a knife, cutting you down piece by piece until you’re nothing but a shell. An empty carcass of bone that’ll inevitably be harvested for a purpose far greater than yourself.

Or so she says. As you lie there, writhing in pain, blinking to shield the teeth that bear witness to your torture, you hear her whisper cool and quiet, telling you of your death. Of your fated downfall, and then of your—

You always wake up before she finishes.

Before you can hear her utter the words you’ve heard a thousand times. Feeling the burn of your lungs, you stretch your fingers across your chest in remembrance, breathing in and out as the skin beneath your digits runs hot and you’re forced to forget the experience all over again.

When you reach camp that night, sore from the seemingly never-ending mushroom forage, you find yourself dreading the prospect of such sleep. Even through the exhaustion, the last thing you want to do is rest your head lest she arrives tonight, so you fight the urge, settling in against the edge of the fire.

“You look tired.”

You turn to look at Gale with half-closed eyes, offering him the softest grin you can muster before turning toward the flames. They seem brighter than usual. A decorative flash of warm-toned hues that make you blink and rub your eyes, somehow feeling even more languid.

“Mushroom hunting take it out of you?”

You hum, making no move to look his way as you pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself for comfort.

As much as you’ve grown to like Gale’s company, all you want right now is silence. A moment of peace where you can just stare into the fire and let your eyes burn from something other than the lack of sleep. Especially after spending the day alongside Lae’zel and Shadowheart as some poorly trained mediator. Just the thought of opening your mouth to speak feels like a threat to your vocal cords. The prospect of speech too much to handle, even as Gale begins to fill you in on his and Wyll’s misadventures with a nearby myconid colony.

“They’re truly such interesting creatures. Did you know…”

His voice falls on deaf ears, earning you nothing but a confused sigh once he realizes you’re not listening. Mostly because it’s not normal for you to just blatantly ignore your peers.

“Are you alright? Need anything? Perhaps a drink or a—“

You’re standing upright before he can even finish his sentence, brushing the ass of your leathers before walking away, paying no mind to the curious wizard as he looks around the camp, catching the eye of Wyll who merely shrugs.

It’s not like you to leave. To ignore a friend mid-conversation but your voice is gone. Lost to the void of constant intercession and a brewing anxiety that sits in your chest. As you walk towards your tent you can feel it shifting. Starting at your gut, everything twists to form a sickly sting. A stabbing pain that throbs within your abdomen, threatening to grow as you part the fabric and crawl inside, plopping into bed face first.

Despite your better judgement, you let out a low groan you’re sure at least someone hears causing you to frown, knowing that you’re better than this. Better than neglecting your health because of some silly nightmares. Better than letting the fear of your past get the better of you. Better than brooding about it.

Turning to lie on your back, you palm the sockets of your eyes in frustration, letting your mind wander. Allowing yourself to feel everything you’ve been suppressing over the last twelve or so hours.

Aside from exhaustion, it’s mostly Astarion that surfaces. His face in the darkness looking at you as you left camp that morning, barely awake enough to give him a nod. In an instant it was as if he was there and gone, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place before shifting out of view alongside an overly excited Karlach. It was the kind of look that made you question its intentions. Its knitted brows and pursed lips rising and falling through your memories between the scuffles of your two companions.

As you walked along the edges of the Underdark’s cliff sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it represented. What emotion it was trying to convey in such a small amount of time before it disappeared completely?

As you lie there now, once again imagining its form you feel it’s something bordering on pity. A showcase of solidarity in your obviously failing quest for sleep.

Astarion may not say much about your struggles —unlike him, you don’t complain about the endless problems that you face on the road— but you know he’s still aware of them. He’s too perceptive not to be.

So why hasn’t he said anything?

A heavy breath escapes. A shaky one damaged by speculation. Ruined by the assumption that it’s because he doesn’t care. That perhaps you aren’t worth the trouble of a little bit of worry despite previous actions.

You may have killed for him —had his back long before anyone else, but have such feelings ever been reciprocated? Has your worth been proven now that you’ve slain a man in his honour? And if so, how much worth do you truly hold? Is it substantial enough to ask you how you are? Big enough to look at you with any semblance of fondness? Or is it all just for show?

There’s a part of you that hopes it is. That the moments filled with kindness are nothing more than lies told to keep your attention. If he were lying, it wouldn’t necessarily make the way you feel right now any better but it’d mean that there’s an end. A barrier to stop you from getting in too deep. An excuse you could use to explain the naivety of thinking he may care.

Because it wavers —his care. Some days it’s obvious, sometimes it’s not. You can never guess when the care will appear, only that when it’s there and eventually dissipates you’ll be left alone again, wondering why he puts the extra effort in at all. Why he reels you in only to let you go, forcing you to question his intentions as you watch with careful eyes for those moments of reassurance. Moments that you can never prepare for. Ones that gnaw at your heart with pointed teeth wrapped beneath hungry lips, starving for the truth.

You’re not too sure you’re ready to take that leap yet. To push him for the answers you know he’ll just avoid. He’s never been quick to trust and even when he does allow you in there’s still a blockage of sorts. An obvious resistance that sits between you, forcing you to settle regardless of the fear you hold inside your chest, wondering what would happen if you tried to push.

You assume it’d ruin you. That, more than likely, pushing too hard would only create an even deeper wedge, making the truth that much more unattainable, leaving you with less than what you started with.

Shooting upwards, you groan again and breathe, resting your face against your open palms in irritation.

All you want to do is sleep, knowing the only reason you’re thinking so much is because you’re avoiding it. If you think you can’t drift which means the nightmares can’t come, leaving you with two bad endpoints you know you have to choose between.

It makes you want to scream just thinking about it but instead of giving in to such desires you merely settle back down, pulling the fabric of your bedroll up to your shoulders before closing your eyes.

You’re going to get some sleep whether or not it kills you. Whether or not you have to endure the pain of a thousand deaths all at once before you’re inevitably woken up in a stupor of suffering.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift. One minute you’re lying there, counting your breaths like sheep and the next you’re out, filtering through a darkness that feels all too familiar. At first, it’s just there, coating your skin in nothingness. Lost to the void of slumber, you’re at peace for the first time in forever but as expected eventually the shadows unfold. Part to reveal a body of pale skin wrapped around viscous veins full of the blood of many.

It beckons you almost immediately. The flutter of that icy voice saying your name over and over until you come to call, allowing yourself to move. Letting your feet guide you to her presence, you feel the waves and how they threaten to spill over as you kneel before her, feeling her grab your throat.

Her fingers twitch and curl but never grip as she leans forward, offering you a grin. “You’ve been avoidant.”

You don’t speak. For a moment your lips part, feeling the presence of her thumb glide across the base of your throat but you don’t dare speak.

“You know it’s coming, my dear. You can’t avoid it.”

Your tongue moves to wet your lips while you blink, trying your best to let the visions of her angular face blur into the night that surrounds you, realizing she looks just as you remember her. All papery and washed out —a mere shell of herself now that you’ve gone missing. Her features drying out with each passing day you find yourself separate.

“Come back to me. Let me protect you.”

You swallow hard and turn your head, feeling the nails of her fingers dig into your neck prompting you to cry out.

She doesn’t let you do much else. Quickly moving on from the one-sided conversation to grab her knife, you watch as she mumbles under her breath, turning the blade between her fingers with a grin. “In untimely death comes timely renewal, remember?” she says, letting it ghost across your bare chest, pushing the edge against it until it breaks the skin.

You barely feel the first insertion. As the blade dips through the layers of your flesh, the only thing you feel is her breath. The pattern of air that puffs against your face as she recites those aforementioned words, taunting you as she pulls it down.

In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal…

As the knife moves lower, you repeat the words in unison like a mantra, struggling to get them out through gritted teeth as she works to cut you open. To slice your torso from the sternum down revealing countlessly re-healed bones and slimy organs that lie in waiting for her to pluck.

Hovering above you, her hands move to survey such handiwork, her fingers stroking the edges of your open skin before they inevitably dive right in, ripping you awake.

You feel the pressure of her inside your gut before it really hits that it’s done. Shooting upward, you cough and double over in an instant, pressing your hands shakily to the ground in front of you.

It’s the worst dream you’ve had yet. Longer than all the others, you can feel the adrenaline of it all penetrating your thoughts. Overthrowing every single anxiety you’ve ever felt as you sniff back tears, pushing yourself towards the entrance of your tent.

Pulling it open, you look around the camp in desperation, catching the eye of Wyll who raises his brow, watching as you shake your head, slipping further into the ground.

Before you can even think he’s on you, reaching for your shoulders, asking you what’s wrong and how he can help. In response, you make no effort to reach back. To remedy your pain as you continue to shake and cry, sobbing out the cursed mantra through heavy gasps that leave him panicking.

“Guys! Something’s wrong!”

As he calls out to the rest of the group, you quickly find yourself surrounded by familiar faces. All of them looking down to see your hysteria unfold.

“What happened?” Dropping to her knees, Shadowheart’s the first to your side, moving her hands to cup your face before you swat her away, mouthing the words over and over and over again.

“I don’t know!”

“You don’t know?”

The two of them continue to bicker. As Wyll explains the way you crawled out of your tent, mumbling something about death, you force yourself to shuffle back, maneuvering your body so that you’re half sitting inside your tent again, watching it all unfold. Focusing on the confusion as Lae’zel and Karlach stand in the wings, muttering to each other words you can’t quite hear while Gale stares down at your mouth, watching the words you speak only to yourself as your eyes start to dart around.

Surveying the rest of the camp, you wipe away your tears and try to breathe, forcing your mouth to stop its repetitions once you remember the ache inside your chest.

Because of the Illithid, you can still feel her handiwork. Beneath your sweaty tunic, you can sense its edges burning —stinging from the aftermath as you press a hand to your sternum, making sure you’re still intact. Making sure your organs aren’t on display as you catch sight of Astarion coming up the path.

He’s nose deep in a book when you see him, scanning the pages with interest before his eyes inevitably raise to see your nervous frame, curling into your tent. Then his interest fades. Evaporating into thin air before it’s replaced with fear. Genuine, heartbreaking fear that has him moving so quickly he fades out of view before reappearing in front of you.

“What happened?”

Just like Shadowheart, his hands cup your cheeks, gripping the plush as he lowers himself down, moving his forehead to yours.

Unlike before you make no effort to push him away. Instead, all you do is frown and try to suppress the tears, clawing at his shirt with desperate pleas, begging him to stay. Begging him to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. Begging for him to lie and say he’ll protect you just like you did for him.

Using your tadpole you beg him over and over again, letting the tears silently fall from your face, not caring that the whole party is watching.

All you need is him. In falseness or in truth, you don’t care. You just need him to ground you. To call you darling and to make you laugh. To make you feel like you’re something more than a vessel of organs one day destined for harvest.

As your chest begins to heave, letting all the nightmares unfold all over again, you feel the tadpole behind your eye squirm in response, asking you to let him in. Without hesitation, you close your eyes and swallow hard, feeling his thoughts start to overthrow the visions of her and her knives and the mantra that sticks haphazardly across your brain matter.

I’m here, you’re safe.

For once it feels like a promise. A silent vow meant only for you as he ushers you further into the tent, saying something to your peers before closing it up. After that he readjusts the bedroll with gentle hands, always keeping a single palm against the small of your back, even when he guides you to lie against his chest.

It’s the first time in weeks that you’ve felt safe. Resting a cheek just below his collarbone, you can feel your breath begin to return to its normal state. No longer ravaged by the panic of your dreams, it moves in and out, fanning the fabric of his shirt.

“Was it a nightmare?”

You nod. Unsure how to explain it because, while it is a nightmare, it somehow feels so much more.

“Of the past or?”

“Sort of.”

He hums curiously, glancing down to see your hand slide up his chest to grip his shirt.

“It feels like I’m answering a call.”

“A call?”

“Like there’s a person trying to reach me and when I answer I can… I can feel them.”

“Feel them?”

You can tell he doesn’t quite understand. Not that you blame him for it. The whole concept of these nightmares still vexs even yourself. Leave you stumbling in confusion each night you find yourself awake, struggling to remember what’s real and what’s not.

The nightmares are not as easily explainable as the actual torture you’ve endured. Especially considering that up until now there had been periods where the memories had died. Days where her face was nothing more than a splotch of white against a backdrop of black, slowly fading away.

It doesn’t make sense why they're suddenly returning. Why your mind is forcing you to relieve these memories night after night.

“Does your tadpole make it hard for you to dream?”

There's no hesitation when he says yes. No moment thought before his answer, making you wonder if maybe he too is experiencing these dreams.

“I feel like it amplifies everything.”

Looking up to gauge his response, you can see the worry clouding his eyes. How his expression sort of fades into the abyss as his eyes focus on yours.

“I dream of the past a lot. Of my life before this and… and I can feel it. Everything that ever happened I can feel all over again and it’s—“

“Painful.” His voice is broken. A crack in the mirror, shattering the often joyous image of his face as he looks away, blinking.

Without even processing your movements you prop yourself up on your elbow, reaching over to grab his cheek and pull him back in. “I wish you didn’t understand how it felt.”

There’s a flicker of hurt that hits his face, enveloping his features before the previous sadness kicks in again and he’s reaching for your wrist, tightening around it. “Yes, well, not all of us get the luck of the draw when it comes to good lives.”

“You should’ve,” you tell him.

He scoffs and closes his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “You’re probably the only one that thinks that.”

You let your thumb explore his cheek. Let it move in soft circles, taking in the way it shifts beneath your touch.

It feels strange to be this close to him even after all of the other intimate moments you’ve shared. Something about it feels softer, more honest than the rest of them, making your heart beat rapidly against your chest, threatening to burst.

“I know it’s not my business but if you ever want to talk about it—“

He places a kiss to your hand, letting his lips linger against the pad of your thumb as he closes his eyes, reaching around to grip your waist.

In an instant, the words drift out of your mind once you feel it; lost to a touch you didn’t realize you longed for.

Swallowing hard you lay back down to look away, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the tender image that unfolds as his arm shifts again, accommodating your movement. Making you feel that rush of comfort return as he pulls his mouth away and clears his throat.

“I’m, uh… I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

“Vulnerability?” you joke, earning yourself a snort.

“I suppose that’s a word you can use.”

“To be fair, neither am I.”

You feel him shift to meet your gaze, looking at you with surprise. “Really now? I think breaking down in front of the whole camp just so that you can find me is quite the effort of—“

Before he can finish you clamp your hand around his mouth. “I was in shock, you bastard. I wasn’t thinking about my dignity.”

Flexing around your palm, you feel him smile before he pulls away. “That’s good because there was absolutely nothing dignified about the way you looked at me back there. It was…” He trails off, his words catching in his throat for a moment before he clears it again. “You scared me.”

There’s a moment of silence after that, lasting far longer for it to be deemed comfortable as you lay there, wide awake, wishing you could get him to talk to you. Hoping that maybe if you reach out with the Illithid he’ll answer your questions.

Closing your eyes, you feel his presence in your mind already, vying for your attention in a way that has you both moving in closer, tightening your hold.

Show me the dream.

It isn’t a question or a request but a simple command that has you obeying —letting him enter your thoughts. Letting him stand along the sidelines as she guides you to the ground and cuts you open all over again. Letting him listen to the recital of words that are spoken behind two frozen expressions as Astarion pulls you tighter against him, placing his mouth to your forehead to stop himself from crying.

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo @jjfchk @idiotsatan @kay24sstuff @bluestuesday @mopeyghost @bloopthebat @art-by-greenie @heneralmoon @80spuppetfantasy @sukunababe @dreamingaboutyousworld @ranfithegood @haniscrying @ghostys1mp @liadamerondjarin @the-lake-is-calling @marina-and-the-memes @rookieoftheyear @zraloci-cpr @kaetmo @snickerdoodle-daydream @wowowwild @d1anna @raswiet @conniesbbymama @sweetrollgal @venus-wrts @demonicthorns @kihten @deadglamsheep @sanscas @spammypasta @leighsartworks216 @rose-gold-blue @p1ssmagg0t @hellish-writes @tea-a-holics @ghostinvenus @theenadaa @otayz @sexysquatch @sleepyeclair @colorful-anxieties @alina-exe @ilana-the-lasagna @lillifer @geektarts

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#painful vulnerabilities #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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martybaker · 3 months

Text

Over the rainbow

So I know we love torturing or at least inconveniencing retired Dream with new human ailments and realities, I love doing that as well, but the thesis of this was - what if Dream retired and he finally got to be at peace and all was well, actually 🥹

(started this for prompt First time for dreamling week but here we are over a week late)

————

“I’ve never been kissed,” Dream announces.

He’s settled on the far end of Hob’s sofa with his knees up, chin settled on top of them and arms loosely hugging his legs, somehow looking both comfortable and relaxed as well as like a model in the middle of a photoshoot.

Hob’s had a hard time not staring but when Dream says that line his eyes immediately snap to the vision on his couch, clothed in hues of beige, wrapped in Hob’s own softest cardigan, and he nearly spills the tea that he was bringing for a sip.

“Huh? What?” He asks dumbly, voice unnaturally high pitched.

Dream merely blinks at him and waits him out.

When the wheels in Hob’s brain start turning again he does try to parse that statement, but all he can come up with is: “But…you’ve had relationships? You had a wife and all, did you not kiss? Was it all like, metaphysical or-“

Dream rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “Of course I’ve kissed my partners. Let me rephrase the statement. Murphy has never been kissed.”

Oh.

Dream’s talking about his new human body. His new self, that he named Murphy, a name to be used for dull but necessary identity paperwork that Hob obtained for Dream through rather illegal means.

It’s only been a little over a month since Dream turned human, but he’s been very…calm while settling into his new reality. The retirement was his own choice and he seemed to be perfectly content with his decision, despite the fact that he was forced to live with Hob in his messy little apartment while they figure something of his own for him.

Well, if.

Dream also seemed perfectly content in Hob’s space and showed no interest whatsoever in looking at flat listings.

Not that Hob minded. He would happily spend every minute every day with his friend, if it wouldn’t make him feel guilty about slacking on his job and his students. After all, Hob’s chosen career wasn’t just to keep himself busy, he really enjoyed teaching young impressionable minds about days past, keeping the history alive. Remembering.

But his joy in teaching was currently found lacking compared to the newfound joy of Dream in his home. Not just visiting, robed in dark colors, taking time off of his duties to spend a moment with Hob, but human, dressed in earthly colors, there in the mornings for shared breakfasts and still there in the evenings when Hob returned. Reading a book, slowly going through Hob’s vast vinyl collection, playing the piano, painting, knitting, molding clay. Pale blue eyes focused and clever hands at work, creating, always creating. He’s always been an artist and that part of him stayed true, despite the big change.

All things considered, Hob’s really been having a hard time keeping his foolish heart in check. And with Dream saying things like this, things like-

“This mouth has never been kissed.”

Hob’s eyes drop to Dream’s lips as soon as Dream says that, just to see them twitch in a pleased smile.

Hob stares at him, at a loss for words, while Dream looks back at him expectantly. Expecting…an answer? A reassurance?

Hob clears his throat. “Well…I’m sure it will be? It’s a very lovely mouth,” he says, unable to stop the blush coloring his cheeks.

Dream sighs a long suffering sigh and pets the couch next to himself. “Come here,” he commands.

There’s no ancient power of a monarch of the Dreaming behind it anymore, but Dream still keeps his regality, his head held high, a quiet gravitas to him. Not quite the same as when he was an Endless, but still there.

Confident, elegant, graceful.

And calm, like the still water of an indigo lake high in the mountains.

Hob blinks. What was the question? Oh, right, he was being summoned. He moves to sit next to Dream.

Dream turns towards him, leans in and closes his eyes.

Is he…?

Hob is frozen in shock once again. “Ahh, you, you want me to…?”

Dream opens his sky blue eyes again, staring into Hob’s soul. “Yes,” he says decisively.

There’s a beat when they just stare into each other’s eyes and then Dream closes his again. Waiting, alluring lips just a few inches from Hob’s.

But Hob’s having a crisis. They’ve never done this before! Dream’s never said anything about being…attracted to Hob, he’s never suggested, he never seemed interested that way.

One time, Hob got drunk and Dream had to drag his ass upstairs to bed, and Hob was just enough at his senses to remember that he slurred: “D’ya know what I like best about being immortal?”

“What,” Dream asked as he pulled Hob upwards, making sure he wouldn’t stumble on the stairs.

And Hob smiled goofily and said: “You.”

Dream just blinked at him. He didn’t say anything, not then, not when Hob got propositioned by the shopkeep when they were out together, browsing for new (old) records, not when Death was visiting and she teased if they changed their dates to weekly instead of centennialy.

Not when they were walking in a park, and Dream seemed to be watching a couple on another path on a stroll as well, holding hands.

Hob’s good mood made him act foolish, he reached out a hand in offering, but Dream… he just stared at it. Hob quickly withdrew it, running it through his hair, chuckling nervously. “I was just teasing,” he said weakly, but by that point he was sure his feelings were transparent and Dream’s lack of reaction was a clear signal.

Then again, maybe this was just harmless experimentation? Wanting to know what it feels like, being kissed as a human?

But Hob still hesitates. He feels too strongly about Dream to casually mess around without being wary of the consequences.

“Uhh, wait. I, are you sure? I don’t-“

Dream sighs and his patience with Hob apparently runs out because he pulls Hob towards him by his shirt, kissing him square on the lips.

Hob makes a surprised sound, but then he closes his eyes and falls into the kiss.

It’s unhurried and rather chaste, yet Hob’s heart seems to be doing its best trying to jump out of his chest.

Dream pulls away, slowly opening his eyes.

“How….how did that feel?” Hob asks, reminding himself that this was just an experiment. A one time deal.

Dream contemplates his answer. “Different,” he says.

“Different than when you were..Endless?

“Yes.”

“Good different or bad different?”

Dream frowns. “No such dichotomy applies,” he says, and then he leans back in again and Hob leans away.

He chuckles nervously. “Ahh, haha, hold on. You’re gonna make me think you like kissing me.” He tries to turn it into a joke, holding Dream lightly by his shoulders, trying to prevent him from darting forward again.

Dream glares at him. “And what, pray tell, is making you think I don’t.”

“Oh…really?” Hob lets go of one bony shoulder to pinch his own arm. Surely, he’s still asleep and this is just a …dream.

Dream’s glare turns even more unimpressed. “You’re awake,” he says, sharp, and as if to prove his point he kisses Hob again, more hungrily and passionately, biting at his lower lip, Hob’s hold too slack to hold him back.

They kiss and kiss and it’s far from chaste this time, Dream seems to have made it his mission to explore Hob’s mouth thoroughly, while his hands explore his chest.

Hob’s hand burrows into Dream’s hair, he isn’t able to hold back now, kissing back with vigor, treasuring Dream’s every gasp.

They’re both breathing hard by the time they part - by the time Hob has to pull Dream back by his hair to stop him from diving back in.

He can’t help but laugh. “You do actually need to breathe now, you know.”

Dream doesn’t seem too pleased with this reminder. He huffs, sitting back onto his heels.

Hob already misses the feeling of him in his arms.

He clears his throat. There’s a very important question to be asked first.

“Is it…just the kissing that you like?”

Dream tilts his head at Hob like a cat, measuring him. “You cannot tell?”

Hob shakes his head.

“You’re not very bright, Hob Gadling,” Dream says, and Hob would protest, he would tease back, but the words get stuck in his throat when Dream takes Hob’s hand into his own, putting it on his chest and making Hob feel his racing heartbeat.

Hob inhales, blushing.

“You…I…,” he sighs, searching for words. “I still have a lot to learn,” he offers, smiling at Dream.

“As do I,” says Dream.

It is marvelous seeing Dream like this. His words are confident but his heart beats wildly under Hob’s hand, pink colors his cheeks, chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

He’s trusting Hob with this, with his very human body whose reactions he cannot temper, cannot regulate.

Hob chuckles, feeling warm.

He loves this, the marvelous feeling of finding out your crush likes you back, the feeling that’s always incredible, no matter the time and place, no matter how many times he’s experienced it. One of his favorite feelings, the ones that make life an amazing journey.

“I really thought you weren’t interested in me like that,” he says.

Dream sighs. “I…could not be.”

Hob’s heart aches.

He has to touch, now that he’s allowed, now that he’s invited to. He kisses Dream’s forehead, his cheeks, delighting in the sighs he earns.

He kisses Dream's neck and Dream tilts his head for better access, making Hob feel lightheaded and so full of happiness he can hardly contain it. “I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you now,” he warns. “I’ll kiss you a hundred times every day.”

“A thousand times” Dream says, and Hob laughs, scraping his teeth against alabaster skin, making Dream moan.

He smirks, gaining back his confidence now that he knows Dream means this. He holds him around the waist, pulling him closer.

“I did learn a certain thing or two over the years,” he says slyly, dipping Dream backwards, laying him on the couch. Dream sighs indulgently, wrapping his hands around Hob’s shoulders, holding him close.

“Want me to show you?” Hob asks, and Dream hums in confirmation, pulling him for another kiss.

Soft notes play from the old record player, outside warm spring sun rays melt the last reminders of winter, birds chirp their welcoming songs.

Hope is in the air.

Dream’s here, in Hob’s home, in his arms. The cold weeks when he was distant and quietly hurting and Hob could sense something was very, very wrong but didn’t know how to fix it now seem like a distant memory too.

Hob pulls back for a second, holding Dream’s head in his hands, savoring the moment.

“Will you stay?” he whispers.

Dream inhales, his hand shaking a little when he places it on Hob’s cheek, caressing Hob’s lips with his thumb.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he says, smiling.

————

#dreamling week 2024 #dreamling #dreamling week #the sandman #dream x hob #sandman #dreamling fic #my writing #dream of the endless #hob gadling #sandman fanfiction #the working title for this was Retired dream just chilling 😂#also i’m sorry i am bad at writing kisses i’m pretty sure i recycle the same 5 sentences when I write them 🥹 oh well #i too still have a lot to learn #oh also there’s a very light allusion to comic events at the end #perhaps I should tag that

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pedropascalsx · 1 year

Text

Kinktober - Day Two: Virginity.

Frankie Morales × F! Reader.

Summary: You and Frankie take the next step in your relationship.

Warnings: P in v, Loss of Virginity, Oral (f) rec & feelings.

Word Count: 951!

A/N: Day two and I wrote a little bit of our favourite pilot. I hope you enjoy soft and sexy Frankie!

Thank you AGAIN to @absurdthirst for your amazing prompt list! And for looking over this one as well as yesterdays. I appreciate you so much 🩷

Your thighs shake as his tongue laps at you like a man starved, his arms holding you in place as you come apart for the second time at the expense of his tongue.

“Frankie,” you whimper as he continues to work you through your high, alternating between licking and sucking your clit as your fingers grip his hair tighter and tighter. With another breathy moan of his name you start to gently push his head away, the overstimulation becoming a little too much as you tremble beneath him. “You are incredible.” You say with a giggle.

“And you’re fucking delicious,” he murmurs, before peppering a few kisses on your thighs and rubbing his patchy beard against your soft skin.

“I want this,” you say, noting the trepidation in his eyes and the way his hands are a little less steady than usual. “I love you, Frankie.”

“I know,” he says, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. “I love you too. Promise me you’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much?” His hands grip the backs of your legs as he presses a kiss to your knee.

“I promise,” you say, lifting up your hand and gently rubbing soft circles into his cheek.

“Lift your hips,” Frankie says, before reaching over for a pillow, and placing it gently underneath you. “We’ll go slow, and I’ll stop if you need me too.”

“I know, baby.” You watch as he calculates every move he makes, not rushing and ensuring that you’re ready to take him. He gently slips a finger between your slit, and gathers up some arousal, generously coating two fingers before pushing them inside of you.

“So fucking tight,” he hisses. His pupils are blown wide with lust as he watches his fingers pump in and out of your dripping core, focusing on finding that spot. “I fucking love this pussy,” he murmurs as start to flutter around his digits, and your eyes start to roll back into your head. “There it is.”

“Oh, Frankie,” you choke out, as he drags his fingers against the spot inside of you. Exploring you in a way that no one else has before. “Oh, fuck!”

“I know, baby girl, I know,” he soothes, as the softest moans spill from your perfect lips. “Once you’ve cum on my fingers, I’ll give you my cock.”

He begins to twist his arm a little, pushing a little deeper as your walls greedily grip onto his fingers and he knows you’re already getting close. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, as he looks you up and down. He takes in every curve and appreciates every mark, scar and every single inch of you. “How did I get so lucky?”

You can’t respond, your body doesn’t let you, instead every part of you tenses before your body is awash with pleasure. Every receptor in your body is on fire in the most incredible way, as he repeats the same motion over and over until he knows you can’t take anymore.

“Frankie,” you murmur, desperately to feel more of him, “Make love to me.”

“With pleasure,” he says with a wide smile. He gently removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan that you feel everywhere.

He pushes down his boxers and reveals his painfully hard cock, the tip bright red and begging for relief. “Promise me again, you’ll tell me if it gets too much,” he says, not taking his eyes off of yours. “Promise me, baby.”

“I promise, Francisco.” You shift closer to him, and you watch as he exhales deeply.

He’s slow, he takes himself in hand and drags the tip of him through your folds. He watches the rise and fall of your chest for a few moments before his eyes flicker back up to your face, and he studies it without blinking as he presses himself against your entrance. You give him a small nod and a wide smile and he pushes just the tip of him inside of you. The gasp you make is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, and after a few moments he pushes himself in just a little more, relishing in every moment until he’s filled you to the hilt.

He’s in no rush to move, his mouth spills an endless amount of praises and sweet nothings as you get used to the size of him. And then he slowly begins to rock his hips, his lips now pressed to yours as he swallows every delicious moan and whimper.

Every snap of his hips is so perfectly controlled. Each one designed to give you pleasure while remaining soft enough to not overwhelm. “I love you,” you murmur softly against his lips, as he responds with a kiss that steals your breath.

He knows he isn’t going to last much longer, not with the way you keep squeezing him like a vice. So he keeps focusing on that spot inside of you determined to make you see stars before he fills you up for the first time. “I love you, baby,” he says before slightly increasing the pace, and that’s when he knows he’s got you. You clamp down hard around him and yell his name, before flooding his cock and he immediately follows suit, painting your walls with thick ropes of his pleasure. “I love you, I love you so much,” he repeats over and over as you milk him dry.

The moment you’ve both come down from your high, he gently pulls himself free and captures your lips with a bruising kiss.

“That was perfect,” you say, lips brushing against his. “I love you so much, Francisco.”

“I love you more.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x ofc #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #CKT23 #my fanfiction #my fanfic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction

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cupidsdolll · 8 months

Note

I accidentally just unfollowed and refollowed u when I went to send in prompts HAHA but pls know it was an accident!!!!! anyway 14 and 18 :))))

Sweet Loving

hahah it's okay! here you go <3.

- - - -

14 - kisses

18 - heart candies

- - - -

“Come on, just one more!”

Harry and Y/N have been standing in the same spot of her living room for the past ten minutes. He’s supposed to go to the store to gather a small list of groceries she needs to make dinner tonight. He has the list in hand and one arm very gently trying to pull the girl’s arm away from around him. He never leaves her without a soft and quick goodbye kiss which is how they ended up here.

He gave her one small kiss and went to the door, but she tugged on his arm and asked for one more. He’s not one to deny such a simple request so he nodded and gave her another, which turned into five more and then five more.

“Love, I’ve been in the same spot forever. You want this dinner, don’t you?” He asks and she immediately frowns.

“I mean yes, but I just love you.” She says and he chuckles in response.

She’s always been such a softie for him, always wanted to make him the happiest and always looks at him with the softest and gooeyist eyes he’s ever seen. He thinks it's always been like this, can’t remember a time where she acted anything differently towards him. He doesn’t mind it at all, he finds it quite endearing if he’s being honest. He likes that she loves him so much and always wants to show him just how much. He loves the kisses as well, it’s one of his favorite things of hers. No matter what’s happening, she’ll never leave him to do anything without kissing him gently on the lips. They’re addicting in a way, his own personal drug and encouragement. He can’t ever get enough of them and honestly, neither can she. Which is why he thinks their relationship works so well.

Y/N huffs and stares at him, a mischievous glint passes through her eyes, but Harry doesn’t pay attention to it. He already figured she’d start trying to plan things when her pouting doesn’t work on him.

“If you don’t love me, just say that.” She says with as serious of a face she can manage, which would almost fool him if he didn’t already see this coming.

“You know I love you, pretty. I’ll love you always even when you’re being a bratty little thing like you are right now. I will give you all the attention you want after I go to the store and get everything you need to make food; we eat and get settled for the night. I know you must be hungry by now.” He says with a smirk on his face, he knows there’s no way she can refuse that offer. She’s never refused it before. He watches as she begins to think it over, except she’s not thinking it over. She’s stalling, trying to keep him here in her arms longer.

A beat passes before she sighs reluctantly, and he just rolls his eyes lovingly. He knows she’s given up, that he’s won and she’s about to pull away.

“How about I go bring you some of those cute little heart candies you like so much as well? S’been a while since we’ve had some.” He says and she immediately perks up, a bright smile seemingly lighting the room before she nods excitedly.

"You would do that? Wait, I mean, are you sure? Isn’t that candy shop across town?” She asks and he just shrugs.

“As long as it makes my girl happy, I don’t mind. You should know this.” He says as he pulls apart from her, placing a kiss on her forehead before heading to the door once again.

“I’ll be back in like fifteen minutes tops. I love you.”

“I love you too. Hurry up, I’m counting the seconds.” He laughs at her dramatics before he closes the door behind him, determined to make it back before she gets done counting those fifteen excruciating minutes.

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dystopicjumpsuit · 5 months

Note

Cuddles and Snuggles?! 👀

Sign me up lol

I have a request if you feel inspired by it 👀

6. trying to crawl under their shirt with either Wrecker or Kix.

Because I would very much like to hide under their shirts than deal with the outside lol

If you think of someone that fits the prompt better, then do that instead! (Or you can entirely disregard this ofc lol)

😘💜💜💜

A/N: Moonie! I had this whole ficlet planned out, and then we chatted about this wonderful Wrecker art by @pinkiemme, and it took over my entire brain. So thank you both for inspiring me. 🖤♥️

Pairing: Wrecker x Reader (GN)

Rating: T (but as always, minors DNI)

Wordcount: 573

Warnings and tags: fluff, cuddles, established relationship shenanigans, very slightly suggestive dialogue, mild language

Summary: Wrecker is just so warm.

Suggested Listening (English translation here):

This fic smells like: Work From Home by Memoire Archives (cappuccino, caramel, biscotti)

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

You rolled over to find an empty bed. You groped blindly through the blankets, but Wrecker was nowhere to be found, and based on how cold the sheets were, he’d been gone a while. Grinding the palms of your hands into your eyes, you sat up, searching blearily for him. There was no sign of him, so you stumbled out of bed to form a rescue party of one. It wasn’t long before you saw the soft blue glow of his datapad as he curled up on the sofa in the darkness.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice coming out in a hoarse croak.

He looked up and smiled. “What’re you doin’ up?”

“I got cold,” you replied. “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll make us some caf,” you said.

“Already got some moogan tea,” he replied, holding up a steaming mug.

Screw the caf, then, you decided, immediately crossing the room to plop down next to him. You leaned your head against his shoulder, wrapped your arms around his waist, and draped your legs across his thigh, tucking your feet against his calf.

“You really are cold,” Wrecker said with a laugh as he felt your frigid toes.

“Warm me up?” you pleaded, giving him the softest, most pathetic tooka eyes you could muster at such an early hour.

“C’mere, then,” he replied, adjusting your position so he could hold you a little closer while still staring over your head at his datapad.

“Reading something good?” you asked.

He kissed the top of your head. “Candy Crush.”

You laughed quietly and snuggled closer, teasing your chilled fingers beneath the hem of his shirt. He flinched away involuntarily, but when you pulled back, he let out a little grumble.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You just surprised me. Come back.”

You didn’t bother to put up even a token resistance, instead diving your icy hands enthusiastically back under his shirt.

“Gods, you’re so warm!” you murmured, burrowing closer and sliding your hands further and further under his shirt, until you were practically wearing it with him.

“I do that on purpose so you’ll cuddle up to me,” he replied, holding back a laugh. “Comfy down there?”

“I’m working on it,” you replied. “You’re a really good heat source.”

“And you’re a really good icicle.” He set down his mug and wrapped his free arm around you. “You tryin’ to climb all the way inside my shirt?”

“Our shirt,” you replied, your voice slightly muffled by the fabric. “Besides, I’m not trying. I’m succeeding.”

“Well, maybe I should just carry you back to our bed so you can have a real blanket.”

“No, this is fine,” you replied from inside his—ahem—your shirt. “It’s cozy. I live here now.”

You felt the deep rumble of his chuckle against your cheek as you nuzzled your face against his chest. “You gonna pay rent?”

“Nah, I’m sleeping with the landlord. He’d never evict me.”

"You got that right." He shifted, and you heard the soft clatter of his datapad as he set it on the floor, then both of his arms closed around you. With seemingly no effort at all, he lifted you up and rolled the both of you over so you were tucked securely between him and the back of the sofa, wrapped in his embrace. He yawned loudly, and you knew he’d doze off within minutes. "Now stop squirmin’ and go back to sleep.”

---

Want to request a ficlet? Check out this list of prompts!

More Bad Batch fics: Hunter fluff; Hunter spice; Crosshair hurt comfort; Crosshair fluff; Tech cuddles; more Tech cuddles

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#wrecker #tbb wrecker #wrecker x reader #bad batch fic #star wars #gn reader #sw tbb fanfic #bad batch #dystopicjumpsuit writes #flashing gif

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writingforstraykids · 6 months

Note

nat, what are your thoughts on jisung and felix kissing but like in a platonic way? to me they seem like the kinda people to just feel a lot of affection for each other and need to show it and sometimes the easiest way to do that is just to kiss.

-🦖

I mean...do I have to say more? (kidding ofc😉)

I can picture this very easily. I mean, we've all seen Jisungie chase after the rest of the boys, trying to kiss them. Not only once. Lix…I mean the Changbin pillow and the random grabby hands towards his friends say it all. Our sunshine twins seem rather touchy soo..yes.

It would probably start all innocently with a fleeting kiss on the hair or cheek, holding hands. Then it could get more intimate, a kiss on the temple, another on the forehead. That's when cuddling comes in. I think that sometimes they'd get so touchstarved and needy to be loved in such an innocent way they'd end up in bed, all cuddled up. One of them gets a little bolder one day, I'm thinking Felix, and plants the softest kiss on his neck. Jisung would be lying if he'd say this didn't make him feel special and he'd find ways to encourage it. One night, as they're comfortably cuddled up after a long day, Felix starts kissing his neck sleepily while Jisung runs his hand through his hair. Ji doesn't know what gets into him but he's pulling him up and meeting his lips before any of them can process what's happening.

From then on, it happens again and again. When one of them is hurt, they know the other will kiss their bruises. When one of them is upset, they know the other will kiss their worries and tears away, holding them close when they feel like falling apart. Whenever one of them feels the need to be loved, appreciated and seen for who they are, the other boy is the answer.

Sometimes, when they're on tour and back at the hotel, they can spend hours of holding onto each other, lips meeting and feeling so safe and grounded right there. (my little romantic heart says one of them catches feelings at some point, cough Lix cough, but let's stay with the platonic thingy)🖤

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @kailee08 @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @queer-possum @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang

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schrodinger-swriter · 7 months

Note

Prompt 13 from the Fluff Prompts list with Lucifer Morningstar please :3

Prompt 13 with Lucifer

Hooray! My first post with the prompt list! I hope you enjoy, Anon! C:

This ended up a little on the longer side as it's only one number! Definitely did not intend that but I don't see the point in chopping the post in half!

Taking a bath with Lucifer:

If you ask him to take a bath with you he's going to be more than ecstatic. He might even seem a little too eager. Do the red cheeks on his face look... larger? More splotchy? He's blushing a lot, he never thought you'd offer something like this..! Of course, everything is innocent, it's just the fact you want to wind down and relax with him.. in your birthday suits that gets him. He's even more of a mess if this is the first time he sees you nude, but he does try to act smooth and unbothered. He'd have one of those gigantic fancy bathtubs so there's more than enough room, if you don't want to have your back to his chest.

Massages your scalp when he's washing your hair. He makes ducks with the soap bubbles, he smiles a bit when you laugh at the sight. Definitely more playful, he would make shapes in the soap bubbles.. soap bears, throw the bubbles, stuff like that. Genuinely has some of the best smelling soaps, and he has a variety. He also has some of the softest robes that you two can slip into after the fact. White with gold trim. An apple emblem sewn onto the chest of course.

Very gentle when scrubbing your back and picking possible tangles out of your hair.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin x reader #hazbin x you #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer imagine #lucifer x you

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finniestoncrane · 11 days

Note

HELLO FINNIE!! HELLOO FINNIEE!!!

We already talked a bit about this but, would you make some headcanons about how all the mercs from TF2 would hug and comfort someone having a bad awful day?? Please and thank so very very much LOVE YOU 🧡

TF2 Merc Headcanons thank you gus gus for asking me for my very personal and no doubt completely off-canon opinions on the boys!! i too needed some comfort and hugs from them omg u-u i'm also very much hoping that these work platonically and romantically!! ❤️ request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: comfort, hugs, cheering up attempts

scout

he struggles to take things seriously, younger brother in a sitcom ass

"there, there, it could always be worse... i guess, maybe... probably not though this is pretty bad"

a gentle pat on the shoulder, and then another, and then another, and then a relatively painful whack to see if the shock works

playful teasing that maybe makes things worse at first, but makes you giggle

and then when he takes it too far, gives you a reason to pummel him, which lets you release some of the anger!!

even with his often blunt and immature response, there's always a sense that he cares deeply

it's there in his embrace, a one armed side-hug that pulls you in close while he asks you in his softest tone

"hey, you wanna go play baseball or somethin'?"

pyro

hugging isn't actually his go to response, and it's not third or fourth on his list either

first of all, he's taking you outside to set fire to something

it's cathartic, and fun, and dangerous!! and FIREY

then he's trying all of the things that make him happy!!

you can play dolls with him? or have a tea party with his stuffies!

or maybe you just wanna lay on your tummy on the floor and do some colouring in

but if none of that cheers you up, and he can't destroy the thing/person that made you sad

then he'd wrap his rubbery little hands around you and bring you in for the biggest squeeze he can offer

sniper

pack it up fellas, it's time to head out on a "touch some grass (or sand)" nature trip to cure the blues

you get to sit up front in the van, obviously

not in the back where you're bouncing off the walls and ceilings

he'll stop at every service station to get you a fun beverage or a snack on the off chance that it will make you crack even a little smile

and then you'll be out there in the world, safe because he's standing directly beside you

he's surprisingly big on physical affection, so he'll have you in a side hug most of the time, just to keep you comforted

and before he lets you go off to your room, he'll get out of the van and give you the biggest hug

full body, very warm, very gentle, completely silent

heavy

the gentle energy in him is in itself, quite intense

likely because he has all of this stored up nurturing and soft encouragement and gentle adoration

but his sisters don't really need it (and let's face it they never did, he just over worried)

so if he has a reason to love and comfort, he's taking it

you'd barely even have to utter a little word of sadness and he'd be wrapped around you

maybe so tight that you might have to get your ribs checked at the emergency room

but the bear hug is worth it

it's warm, safe, comforting, everything that heavy is

and bonus: he can lift anything and anyone

so if you need to be cradled like a leetle behbeh to get some sleep or to work through the sadness, then he can do that!!

soldier

TURN YOUR FROWN UPSIDE DOWN SOLDIER!!

there's so much to be grateful for!! like freedom!! and honey!! and guns!! and america!!

but if none of that works, he's willing to put his shirt back on just long enough to let you nuzzle into his chest for a hug

and if you're very lucky, you might feel another large set of arms around you

because if soldier is hugging you, then zhanna is joining in

maybe with a menacing reminder to stay away from her man

but still with enough warmth that you're surrounded from both angles and left with a fuzzy feeling in your chest

and a little bit sweet and sticky too...

medic

a sensible shoulder pat is his first port of call, because he's usually elbow deep in some body cavity or other

and there's not much he can offer in the way of extensive comfort that doesn't involve you being covered in blood, or worse

but once he's cleaned up, he's all OVER you

you're just a little dove in need of some snuggles

a little soft coo in your ear while he holds you close

a gentle stroke with his large hands so he doesn't hurt you, keeping things light and gentle, not intense (as he usually is)

face smothered in his chest as he rocks you back and forth and sings a deeply concerning lullaby

and then, if none of that works, he'd let you root around in his pile of "dead bits" for something to carve up

it really does let out all of the tension and stress

engineer

oh no don't be sad, he can't engineer his way out of this one...

or can he... OH!! maybe what you need is some comfort, he can do that

just give him 16-20 hours and a large amount of sheet metal and screws

he can work something out, like a little machine that can pat your head at different intervals depending on your needs

or a set of arms that can hug you, as well as deploy turrets and toss grenades!!

but you still look sad... perhaps, while you're waiting on him to create the cure for your sadness

you'd like a little hug?

and honestly, who can hug better than a short king with thick arms? perfect height, perfect squeeze, sweet little honied words to make you smile

absolute love bug with a perfect remedy (eventually...)

demoman

"do you want to drown your sorrows like a horrible wee beastie?"

"or do you want me to come over there and cuddle ye like a wee bairn?"

you can choose one or the other, or both!! either way your soul is going to feel lighter and warmer by the time he's finished with you

and, realistically, you're gonna get hugged either way

once he's drunk enough he won't be able to stop himself from holding you so tight you can't breathe, smooshing your cheeks between his palms, and just generally loving all over you

"yer a bonnie wee thing, i wish you never had to pout they wee lips"

he's slurring his words, but they're all meant with the greatest of sincerity

and you can bet he'd be just as willing to do it all sober

spy

he's a man of few words when it comes to comfort

somehow, despite his confidence in every other area and his preparation for every scenario, this one escapes him

the risks are a lot greater, somehow, than anything else

because he feels like he has to cheer you up, he has to make you feel better

anything less is a failure in his mind

so if you come to him with wet, sad little eyes he won't say a word

a quick grab of you by the shoulders, bringing you in to his room

where he'll wrap a robe around you and make you a nice omelette

and feed it to you in manageable bites

and give you a little tiny peck on the cheek and a quick tap on the head

and then a hug that could be formal or very romantic, it's hard to ascertain the meaning behind it, but it gives you exactly what you need without revealing anything

#x reader #team fortress 2 x reader #tf2 x reader #ok now all the blockable tags are out of the way lmaoooo #tf2 #team fortress 2 #finnie writes #tf2 sniper #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 spy #tf2 scout #tf2 heavy #tf2 demoman #tf2 pyro #tf2 soldier

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earthry · 1 year

Note

hello love i hope you have an amazing weekend Can i ask about hc with insecure papas who thinks reader is with them just, because they're heads of the church and suddenly they're retired and have to tell about it reader?

Aw thank you, I hope you do too!

I was very excited to do this prompt <3

sfw, hurt/comfort, angst, tw self deprecation, low self-esteem, fluff

Primo

Considers himself good at handling stress but all he does is avoid the problem, distracting himself from what he’s feeling. So instead of going to you directly, he picks up gardening.

Has no clue what he’s doing, this is his first introduction into the hobby. He finds a little patch and asks if he can have it and when the Ministry doesn’t protest, he just starts digging up grass.

The problem becomes unavoidable when you seek him out after his continued absence. He’s always gone from the bed when you wake and doesn’t return until very late. Part of you was prepared to find the worst; that he’d been seeing someone else or something but when you find him, he’s up to knees in dirt tearing up the Ministry’s lawn.

The encounter ends with you holding his hand as he confesses the news and his fears of you leaving. You can tell he’s anxious from the stiffness of his posture and the tension in his expression. Leaning so that your forehead rests against his, you tell him he has no need to be afraid of you leaving because you don’t plan to anytime soon. His place as Papa isn’t why you’re with him, and you’ll do your best to show him that in the future to come.

You also joke that you’d better get your own pair of gardening gloves if this is gonna be a permanent new hobby.

Secondo

He believes in tearing off the bandaid quickly, and he doesn't allow himself the time to truly process things or grieve for himself. He just goes on as if everything's okay still and when he tells you the news, he might as well be telling you the weather forecast with how nonchalant he is when he brings it up.

You can see through him though, like stained glass. Can see just how tightly he's wound up, how stiff his muscles are as he braces himself for you to leave. He's playing it casual, like he doesn't care. Like he’s telling himself that when you leave, he'll just keep this facade and eventually he'll be okay again (though he can't even begin to think about a life without you, can't bear to think of you leav-- he stops himself from finishing that thought for fear it may shatter him).

And because you know him and because you can see past that stoney mask of his, the first thing you do is take his calloused hands in yours and press a gentle kiss to it— a reassuring gesture you often do when he’s feeling uneasy or nervous about something and it speaks for itself. You can practically see the tension seeping out of Secondo with how much he deflates and practically collapses against you. You don’t mind however and welcome him with open arms, embracing him as he falls back against you.

You tell him that he’s silly for thinking you’d ever leave just because he’s not Papa anymore. You list all the reasons off the top of your head on why you love him, Secondo, and not Papa Emeritus II.

He hates it when he cries, despises it with a passion because he was raised with toxic masculinity, but he allows himself to let it out in the safety of your arms with his head buried into the crook of your neck. He asks you to continue talking, asks you to tell him about your day, so you do. You tell him what you did that morning, what you ate, who you saw and what they said.

His kisses are the softest after, thankful and relieved and so in love with you. His energy has all been spent through the emotional whirlwind that is his coping methods and so you take him to bed early, tucking yourself into his arms and wrapping around him like a koala. He whispers that he loves you about a billion times, just in case you forget.

Terzo

He figures after he was dragged off stage, he would be retiring. Has a full blown panic attack, and you hold him tightly in his bedroom. Little whines and stuttered breathes as he tries to stop hyperventilating. It takes a little time but you eventually help him settle by putting his hand against your chest and telling him to follow your breathing.

You tell him so many things— that it’s okay and it will be okay. That you’re not going anywhere and that regardless of what happens, he won’t be alone.

You gently brush his tears away and help him clean off his papa makeup, kissing each patch of bare skin you reveal. You run a bath for the two of you with his favorite essential oils and let him curl up in your lap, clinging to you like a stubborn panda. You even tease him about being like one, and his cheeks heat up pink, flustered.

When you finally get to bed, you let him be the little spoon, enveloping him in your arms and holding him tight with the promise that you won’t let go.

Copia

To him, there is no question to whether you would stay or not. He just knows you won’t because he can’t possibly think of a single reason why you would stay if he were no longer Papa. To him, he had been worth nothing until he was Papa. Just the weird quirky cardinal that everyone tolerates because at least he gets his work done on time. He doesn’t know you’ve had a crush on him for years before he ever even stepped foot into the spotlight to lead the Ministry.

He lets himself have one more day. Just one more day where you’re all his and he’s all yours and everything is okay with the world. One more day he gets to hold you in his arms and make you laugh and kiss your lips that he swears taste of honey. To have your hand in his, fingers intertwined as if they were meant to fit together perfectly like soulmates. To hear you say “I love you” and mean it with everything in your heart.

He cries that night as the two of you lay down to sleep, but won’t tell you what’s wrong. Instead, he begs you to hold him the entire night, to stay with him until he wakes. And you do. You kiss his forehead softly and promise you’ll be there in the morning. You wrap him in safety and love until he finally drifts off into a fitful sleep.

In the morning, it’s the first thing he tells you and he fully expects you to get dressed and collect your things to leave. What he doesn’t expect is for you to drag him back to bed.

You snuggle him within an inch of his life and tell him you’re not leaving, not when he’s the perfect cuddle buddy. You’ll reassure him as many times as he needs to hear it and he cries again, soft relieved tears that you kiss away.

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arialerendeair · 4 months

Text

Dreamling Week Approaches

Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnn!

The prompts for Dreamling Week have officially been posted on the @mr-sadman blog, so make sure to check that post out!

If any of you remember last year, I did a massive reblog blitz of any and all Dreamling content I had in my Dreamling tag and reblogged it all across the entire week!

I’m planning to do another of those - but even bigger this year!

Here’s a list of content I’m planning to reblog:

Dreamling Week content from last year

My Dreamling tag

The tumblr Dreamling tag

Dreamling Big Bang Fics ( @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang for future runs of the bang!)

All of @gabessquishytum’s ficlets! (Yes, ALL, I am ballsy and determined)

All of @softest-punk's works

AND, new this year -

YOUR SUBMISSIONS

That's right - one thing I got a lot of requests for last year was for folks to send me things - SO! I have created a handy dandy form for you to do so! I will be accepting any and all submissions up until June 2nd, when Dreamling Week starts!

Submissions have only 2 requirements!

It must be a Tumblr post. No other links will be accepted.

Limit yourself in terms of submissions. (If you have 6 fics - do not send me 6 links, please make a masterpost featuring all of them. If you would like to create a specific universe masterpost for one series - and another for your standalones? Go for it! If you want to create one for your art and one for your fics? Go for it!)

Masterpost Example!

Last but not least!

While I am absolutely thrilled to turn my blog into Dreamling Hell (affectionate) during the first week of June, I would love, more than anything else, to see other blogs join me in doing so, since there is so much Dreamling content out there that I know I haven't seen!! I have lovingly teased @seiya-starsniper into doing something similar, and I hope some of you decide to do reblog sprees (at whatever scale you are comfortable with) as well!

Let's flood the #Dreamling Week and #Dreamling Week 2024 tags with as much content as possible and get ourselves back on the Top Ships of the Week again!

#Aria Posts #dreamling #Dreamling Week #Dreamling Week 2024 #I am so excited for this #HYPE #Dreamling Week Approaches and I WILL be hitting that queue limit!!

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pupkashi · 1 year

Text

clean linen

satoru’s second favorite scent is your washing detergent

a/n: hi hi ! another piece of reader pampering gojo ?? who would’ve guessed :o can u tell the hidden inventory arc is making me wish i could jump thru the screen give him a big hug ,, anyway inspired from this prompt list, hope u guys enjoy :3

wordcount: 745

masterlist

satoru never has the time to do things for himself, always busy running around. he finds himself surviving off catnaps around campus, usually awoken by an angry yaga or an annoyed megumi. both of which ask him the same question, ‘aren’t you supposed to be teaching?’

it’s not until after the two of you start dating that he finds the joy in having a home. the feeling of peace after you finish sweeping and mopping, the fresh scent of the wall plug in filling his nose that makes him melt into the newly fluffed pillows on the couch.

he finds cleaning days with you cathartic, with each sweep he feels his problems also leaving alongside the dirt and debris. there’s a smile on his face as he unloads the dishwasher, a mix of the loud music on the speakers echoing in his ears alongside your singing. he feels like just satoru, and for a moment as you both sigh happily at the clean state of your home, he feels like it’s only you and him in the world.

so when he comes from a particularly exhausting mission, and hears your singing coming from inside, there’s a small smile on his face.

“honey I’m hooome!” he sing songs, grinning widely when your eyes land on him with sparkling eyes.

“toru!” you call out, wasting no time in wrapping your arms around him, kissing his face and then finally his lips, “how was the mission?” you ask, offering him some of the dinner you’d made a while ago.

“exhausting” he mumbles, flopping onto the couch as you heat up his food. he’s about to drift to sleep when he hears you saying his foods ready, getting up reluctantly before he scarfs his food down.

by the time he’s showered and changed into some shorts he’s ready to sleep, already slipping under the covers. you’re fixing a couple things around the bedroom, things you’d moved when you dusted earlier.

satoru’s nose is flooded by the scent of your laundry detergent, a scent he’s grown to love and feel comforted by.

“d’you just wash these sheets?” he mumbles, face half smushed into the pillow he was laying on. you nod with a smile, speaking up in case his eyes were closed, “i did.”

“they smell nice, and they’re still warm” you could hear the smile in his words, watching as he curled into himself, getting cozier by the second as he nuzzled into the pillow. “you comin’ to bed yet?” his tired words aren’t very loud, but you manage to hear him.

“gonna shower first,” satoru pouts at your response, telling you to hurry so he can finally hold his favorite person in the world.

in your defense you did try to hurry, managing to take the fastest shower in your life and tiptoe back into your bedroom. but satoru was already asleep when you returned.

his chest was falling and rising, the softest snores leaving his lips and hair already sticking every which way. he was hugging a stuffed animal close to his chest, one that he’d won you at an arcade almost a year back.

as quietly as you could, you slipped into bed next to your exhausted lover, gently whispering a ‘goodnight.’ you can’t help but stare at him, a smile on your face as you take in his features.

“you gonna keep staring at me or are you gonna kiss me?” he mumbles, one of his eyes opening slightly, a lopsided smile on his sleepy face.

“shut up and c’mere” you giggle, opening your arms. satoru is quick to ditch the plushy, already wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your neck and breathing in deeply.

“missed you,” his voice is soft and you find yourself melting at the two words. your hand is running through his hair and you kiss his forehead softly.

“missed you too, angel boy” you reply, voice just as filled with affection as his. "now go to sleep, you look exhausted" you smile, brushing his hair away from his face once more before you kiss his nose.

satoru tries to fight back, but all he can muster is a small "nu uh" before his eyelids are too heavy to keep open, and your touch is too relaxing to resist.

the comfort of your warmth and the smell of the freshly washed sheets is enough to make his heart tighten in the best way possible.

he feels at home.

taglist (send an ask to be added!) : @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @luna0713hunter @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags

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dhampling · 8 months

Note

"Hugging the other from behind" from this list of prompts with Astarion hugging his very tall, very pregnant wife from behind because I think the image of it is so cute. :3

this made me WEEP. i love this prompt. i would gladly write for any from the linked list honestly they're all so soft. i got carried away and it became a thing. thank you for sending this my way i love you MWAH.

“Darling, I have a bounty of treats and an evening of tales hopefully dull enough to finally send you to sleep.”

Astarion clatters through the door, kicking his shoes off and dropping two armfuls of brimming paper bags onto the table.

“You need to stop kicking your shoes when you take them off. It’s scuffing the wall.” You frown. He rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“Stop being pedantic. I’ll paint over it or something.”

“That means I have to look at it until you do. Which could be avoided, if you didn’t do it in the first place.”

“Do you spend a lot of time looking at our entryway wall specifically?’

He sighs.

‘Gods, my love; get a life.”

If looks could kill.

His shoulders sag and he moves behind you with soft-socked steps, shuffling to where you stand chopping vegetables for some kind of soup.

You exhale deeply. Roll your head back.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I am. I’ll stop it. I know it’s a poor habit.” He grimaces, head dipped.

“I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m just tired.”

One of your hands moves to your back while the other wipes your moist forehead. Astarion looks over you with a small, reverent smile.

“I know, love. Still nothing?”

You shake your head, mindlessly now running a hand over your heavily swollen belly and allowing your sleepy eyelids to fall closed for a brief moment.

“No respite from this, I’m afraid. Not ‘til she’s here.”

Astarion still can’t quite believe you’ve reached this point at all. You and the dhampling are both in good health and no major issues have arisen so far. It’s been - relatively speaking - smooth sailing. His only wish is that you were shorter so that he’d be able to fully wrap his arms around the both of you; all three in a snug cocoon.

He’d expected, prepared for issues. Read up on every possible complication he could and how to mitigate any damage to both parties.

And yet at the final stretch you’ve found yourself wholly unable to rest.

“Right. I picked up some fennel, lemon balm and chamomile from the Night Market and I’m going to make you the world’s best pot of sleepy tea.’

He looks about the kitchen and spots a cookbook open beside the chopping board.

‘Leave the soup, I’ll finish that. Nope. Don’t argue with me, darling. It’s unbecoming.’

He grins as you look at him, dazed.

‘And lastly, your treats!’

From the paper bags he retrieves a punnet of plump raspberries, a pound of almond cake and a pint of fresh cream. He scrambles in the cupboard and finds a large stoneware bowl, adding plentiful amounts of each component and flourishing the top with a spoon.

‘Now eat, sweetling.”

You pore over the bowl of raspberries and almond cake still sitting on the counter, shovelling a heaped spoonful into your mouth and groaning in delight.

“Gods. I didn’t realise how hungry I was.’

Your husband watches you fondly from behind.

‘Thank you.”

He comes up from behind you and wraps you in the softest hug, arms still unable to reach entirely around the bump but he gives it his best shot.

You rock side to side like this together for a minute, his head buried snug into your shoulder in a loving silence.

“No. Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#this man is my child's father #astarion x reader #fluff #my writing #astarion is preparing to be a GIRL DAD

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dellalyra · 1 year

Note

I looked at the prompt list, but i literally COULD NOT decide, but i was thinking, what if Megumi or Tsumiki had a really bad nightmare? How would Gojo and Reader help them? I was thinking baby Megumi, in his sleepy, not being as menacing and just being scared and asking reader for help (cause gojo would bully him)

Also Ily, thank you for your service to society.

A/N: cryin screamin throwin up i can’t this was so sweet to write I think I got a cavity. Having soft sleepy baby Megumi made me so happy to write bc I feel he definitely had his vulnerable tiny little boy moments with these two after he settled in - still a prickly little cactus man most days but occasionally he just needed a cuddle - bc who wouldn’t? Especially if it’s Gojo giving them. Also ily and thank you so much these kind of messages MAKE MY FUCKIN DAY. Keep em coming!!!!!

listen to: luv note - chloe moriondo

la lune - billie marten

A Little Extra Love

Waking up to the sound of obvious nightmares wasn’t unusual for you. You’d been sleeping beside Satoru for a couple of years now, and you’ve shared rooms with Geto and Shoko - the four of you have seen too much shit to sleep unscathed. At least once a month, you’d be sitting with Satoru, still shaking and crying from the lingering feelings of fear and pain stemming from the nightmare - of Riko, of Suguru, of Toji - of losing you. You were no stranger yourself, dreams of bloodied white hair in your lap and vacant blue eyes with a stab wound through his throat plagued you - the image of Suguru holding a young girl's corpse, of the last time you saw Haibara all poisoned your sleep now and again.

So waking at 2am to the sounds of soft whimpers made you immediately turn around to wake your boyfriend from what you expected to be his nightmare - only to find him fast asleep, hair wild across the pillow and drool leaking from the corner of his mouth as he lay starfished across the bed. There was no relief however in seeing a peaceful Satoru - because that meant it was one of the kids.

They’d been with you for about 9 months now, and it was almost Megumi’s 7th birthday.

You bolted up, trying to stay silent as you creeped out your door and ran down the hallway to the kids rooms - the sound was coming from Megumi’s room so you softly opened the door and came face to face with a sight that broke your heart. Megumi was clutching his frog plush so tight that his small knuckles were white and his face was contorted in fear - whimpers and soft cries coming from his trembling mouth.

Dashing across to his bed, you gently sat on the bed beside him. You knew that waking anyone - let alone a 6 year old - abruptly from a nightmare would only cause more fear, so you began to softly coo his name and stroke his soft black hair away from his face. After about 20 seconds, you placed a hand on his little chest and rubbed soothing circles - causing his eyes to flash open and the frog to be clutched even tighter to his chest as he let out a yelp at whatever woke him, eyes wide and petrified frantically scanning the room before he surprised you by flinging his tiny arms around your neck and clutching you right and crawling his way into your lap.

“You’re okay sweet boy, you’re safe. It was a nasty dream, that’s all.” You coo into his hair, with the softest voice you can muster. You hate seeing him like this, you wish he didn’t have the trauma he did so he could worry about things normal little boys did instead.

He sniffled into your chest, head pressed into your fluffy pyjama top face first. You continue the slow cycles on his back and wrap your arm around his legs to keep his close to you.

“Do you wanna talk about it, baby?” You ask.

He shudders, but nods.

“He c-came to get us, my dad, he came in here and took me and ‘Miki and said w-we had to leave with him to the big Zen’in family and never come home again and h-he said you didn’t w-want us and-” and the sobs took over as you got the gist of the dream and if the ghost of Toji Fushiguro was in front of you right now you’d kill him and send him back to hell again.

“Oh, my sweet boy - that’s never gonna happen. We’re never leaving you or Tsumiki, we always will want you guys - we love you both so much. I promise, no matter how much me and Satoru annoy you guys you can’t get rid of us, ‘Kay? We’re a family now. Your dad isn’t taking you from us, pinky promise.”

‘Because your unofficially adopted father killed him and him and I threatened the Zen’in family so much that they’re too scared to come within a mile of you two!’ Is the bit you leave out.

You also leave out that you and Satoru are looking at legally adopting them - that’s for another, happier time.

He sticks his little pinkie finger out and locks it with yours, sniffling a tiny bit more and rubbing his face (snot and all) onto your koala print top, but you couldn’t care less when you can feel the shaking start to settle.

“We can stay with you guys forever, ‘Miki too? Even though she has no magic stuff like me and you guys because the Zen’in said that she wasn’t worth keeping and -” He asks.

“Megumi - we don’t want you two because of what you can or can’t do - we love you guys as Megumi and Tsumiki, nothing else. Even if neither of you could do any of that stuff, you’re stuck with us, okay? Satoru and I have enough magic to keep us all safe - the whole family, okay?” You hate the Zen’in family for even planting that fear in his little brain.

“I love you too.” He says as his tears dry and you wipe his little face. This is only the second time he’s said it to you both, once was a few weeks ago when you and Satoru put him to sleep and both whispered “love you!” into his softly lit room and he whispered “love you guys too.”

You both sobbed that night - you’re both only 21 - can’t be doing that bad of a job with them if he says it back, can you?

“You’re such a brave boy. If you get more yucky dreams again, you come get me or Satoru, okay?” You plonk a kiss on his spiky hair.

“Just you. Not Satoru.” He looks down, fiddling with your necklace.

“Why not, sweetie?”

“I - don’t want him to know.”

“About the nightmares?”

He nods.

“He - he’s the strongest. I don’t want him to think I’m not brave or strong.” He says, words that shouldn’t even compute that way in his head.

“Absolutely not - baby, who told you that being scared makes you not brave or strong?” You tilt his little head up.

“My dad.”

“Well your dad’s dumb then. You can only be really brave if you’re scared. Being scared and fighting anyway is the bravest thing a person can do, I promise. Think about it this way - who’s the bravest and strongest person you know?” You ask as he giggles at you saying Toji’s dumb (you’ve plenty of other names too for that man.)

“You and Satoru.” He says with such resolve your heart melts, you expected him to say Satoru, so being included felt good.

“Satoru and I both get nightmares too, I had one last week, Satoru a few nights ago. It doesn’t mean you’re not brave or strong - it just means you need a little extra love, that’s all.” You nod at him, and you seem the surprise in his eyes at the revelation that the strongest and bravest people he knows get nightmares too, shattering the words Toji had planted into smithereens. How could nightmares mean you’re not those things if you guys had them? You had to know, because you and Aunty Koko were the smartest people in the world. Maybe Ijichi too.

He’s quiet for a minute.

“So if I have a bad dream - I can come get you or Satoru?” He asks.

“You can get more or him for anything at all, honey, not just bad dreams. We’re always here for you, and nothing will change our minds about how much we love you, or how brave and strong and smart and kind you are - ‘Kay?” He nods into your chest at this.

He settles down, small fingers still fiddling with your pendant.

“C’mon, do you wanna come stay with us in our room tonight?” You say.

He thinks for a second.

Then nods, and yawns.

So you lift him onto your hip, ensuring he has his frog and his water bottle and carry him down the hall into your room. Satoru’s still splayed across the bed like he’s determined to use every single centimetre of his long ass body to claim territory.

You point at the drool on his face and Megumi giggles, hearing Satoru order dessert in his sleep.

You lay him down between you both, and crawl in under the covers as he settles in - the movement stirring Satoru, who’s eyes open and he looks in confusion.

“Princess whatcha doin’ up? S’late. Wait - what you doin’ here kid?” He slurs, lifting himself onto his side to face you both.

Megumi looks at you and you smile, tucking him into the bed with you both.

“‘Gumi had a bad dream, ‘toru - so he’s going to stay with us tonight, a little extra love - yeah?” You say, petting both your boys hair. ‘A little extra love’ was what you had said to Satoru when you found him awake after a nightmare back in first year of high school. He smiled at that, eyes dropping back closed as he ruffled Megumi’s hair.

“Bad dream are the worst, aren’t they kiddo? I hate ‘em. If any bad guys come near you I’ll blast them into space, ‘kay? You just shout for me in your dream and let me deal with ‘em.” Satoru mumbles, sleep quickly taking him again, as he shuffles in closer to the middle and you both wrap an arm around the little boy who is snuggling in to return to sleep.

“Promise?” Megumi asks, poking Satoru’s nose.

“Pinky promise.” Satoru replies, lips quirked but eyes shut.

Megumi smiles softly to himself, and hugs his frog and shuts his eyes.

You let out a yawn, eyes closing heavy.

“Goodnight boys, I love you both.”

“Night Y/N. Luh’ you too.” Megumi mumbles, hair splayed almost identically to Satoru’s.

“Night night, Princess. Love ya’ always, you too kiddo.”

No more nightmares that night, just four sleeping soundly in a quiet cottage.

#jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #anime #family formations extras #family formations au #family formations drabbles

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medusapelagia · 1 month

Text

15 The summer camp

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt: Childhood) and @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt: secretly alien ) Rating: teen and up Relationship: Steve/Eddie TW: implied violence Words: 1912

Eddie fucking hated the summer.

Yes, fucking, even if that was a bad word, and Wayne would be really disappointed in Eddie but it wasn't his fault if it was the third year Wayne sent him to the stupid summer camp with the stupid kids of the stupid plant for two entire weeks.

Eddie was twelve, he was old enough that he could have stayed home alone, but no, Wayne signed him up for the stupid camp, again. Eddie cried and screamed, he even begged and promised to eat all his greens and not play loud music by night, but nothing convinced Wayne.

So here he is, sitting in the back of the stupid bus, alone, with his tape player to the maximum volume just to piss Wayne off. He always says that he's going to ruin his hearing blasting music so loudly, but Eddie doesn't care. It's the only way to isolate himself from those mouth breathers.

They all have the same age, more or less, the younger is Jonathan. who is ten, the oldest is Eddie, who is going to be twelve in a couple of months, and in Wayne's opinion that should be enough to have fun. It's definitely not. All those kids wear fancy clothes their moms buy for them at the mall, while Eddie is always wearing second-hand clothes way too big because Wayne says he'll grow into them. So right now he's wearing a very sick Metallica t-shirt that's way too big for him, and a pair of jeans cuffed so many times he lost count.

As soon as they get there the camp counselors are going to divide them into units, or Dens, and Eddie will try to do his best to find a place where to hide and avoid any kind of physical activity the counselors will propose. No swimming, no rafting, no riding, no archery. He has enough books in his backpack to keep busy for the entire duration of the Summer camp.

***

When they arrive, the same smiling faces welcome them. Eddie wonders if it's possible that in three years none of those young men graduated and got a real job. So pathetic. He grabs his bag and waits for the same stupid rituals that will divide the kids into two different groups, when he notices a tiny boy, half hidden behind a tree. He doesn’t remember him from the bus and he’s wearing some clothes that are way too big. His jeans are dirt at the knees like he felt playing through the woods.

And he’s not the only one to notice him. Andy is pointing at him, grinning with his stupid minions, while four-eyes Alex finally turns and sees the dirty boy.

“Hey, you. Why are you hiding? We are all friends here. I’m Alex, and I’m going to be your counselor. Can you tell me your name?”

The boy seems unsure for a moment, but in the end, he mutters, “Steve.” in the softest voice Eddie has ever heard.

Alex grabs his name list, reading the names one by one two times before finally finding the boy.

“Steve found you! Our latest addition, huh? Did your parents leave you here alone?”

Steve nods quietly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, they probably thought we were already here, but don’t worry! We are going to have so much fun together this summer." Alex promises, putting a hand on the kid's back and gently pushing him toward the rest of the group.

"Ok, everyone, this is Steve. It's his first year here with us at the Hideout Camp, so give him a warm welcome."

A choir of Hi, Steve, fills the air, while the kid tries to put up a strong face, but Eddie can see tears in his eyes.

Fuck. Those kids are going to tear him into pieces in no time.

Alex and Jacob start to divide the kids into two groups, and Andy, the son of the plant's HR Director, keeps grinning, pointing at Steve. Eddie knows that he's planning some stupid and dangerous prank because he has been his victim in the past years, so when Eddie is assigned to the Moose Den and Andy to the Teddy one, Eddie decides that maybe, for once, he could care about someone else, so the steps toward Steve and shakes his hand, "Hi, do you want to join my Den? I'm in the Moose one and it's very cool."

It isn't. They both suck, but at least Andy isn't there.

Steve turns toward Alex, unsure, but four-eyes winks at him, "It doesn't happen often that someone asks you to join their Den, Steve. It's a great honor."

"Ok. Well. Thank you. I'll join your Den." Steve replies softly, and Eddie doesn't lose any time and drags him far away from Andy.

As soon as they are far enough from Alex, Eddie whispers, to Steve’s ear “Ok. So. Andy is a prick. Stay away from him and you’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, he just walks to the end of the line, waiting to get to the last bunk where he could hide and read all the books he wants for the next two weeks, but when he turns the annoying kid is at his side, smiling brightly.

“I’m Steve.”

“Yeah, I know.” Eddie snarls back, not interested in the latest.

“You should tell me your name." Steve insists.

"Why should I? What are you? A cop?"

"No, I’m not." Steve replies, scared, staring at Eddie with his huge doe eyes, “I’m just a kid.

"If I tell you my name will you just fuck off?" Steve nods, eagerly, so Eddie sighs, and turning his back he adds, "Eddie."

"That's a nice name."

"No, it isn't. It's a shit name. Now can you leave me be?"

"But… you asked me to join your Den!" Steve protests.

"Only to save you from Andy. Now you know you have to avoid him so we can part ways." Eddie replies, grabbing his backpack and following Alex toward their bungalow. He doesn't turn to see if Steve is following as well, it's none of his business, or so he thinks, until he feels a sweaty little hand taking his and he finds Steve smiling brightly at him.

"We are going to be best friends."

Fuck.

This Summer Camp is going to be hell.

***

Even if it’s his first year at the summer camp, Steve seems to outshine in every game or activity the counselors propose to them: archery, obstacle course, climbing, Steve attends every activity and is always the best, and what's worse, it's that he's always dragging Eddie with him. When Eddie protests that he's not strong enough for the canoe, Steve makes sure they are on the same one and does his best to row for the both of them. And when he complains that he doesn’t want to play water balloon dodgeball, Steve hits him first and Eddie starts running to get his revenge.

At the end of the day, they are tired but happy when the counselor gathers them all around the campfire to share some horror stories.

No, Eddie isn’t happy. He’s living a nightmare. Two weeks are almost gone and Eddie hardly finished one of his books, because every time he hides somewhere Steve tracks him down like a fucking bloodhound and drags him somewhere to do something.

“Why are you always so eager to do stuff!” Eddie complains, resting on the grass, and staring at the sky.

“There are so many things to do! And I want to learn them all! I’m not going to have a lot of time to learn and we are going to leave soon.”

“You live in town, huh? That must be cool” Eddie comments, ripping a blade of grass and starting whistling with it. At the sound, Steve covers his ears, shaking his head, and for a brief moment, Eddie could swear he saw a tail. An honest to god tail! Slim and thin like a mouse tail, but still a tail!

“Steve?!” Eddie asks, looking at him worriedly, but Steve keeps covering his face with his hands.

“Why did you do that?” Steve cries.

“I’m sorry, I was just whistling, I didn’t know you didn’t like it. I won’t whistle anymore,” Eddie promises, throwing away the blade of grass.

“Never again?”

“Never again,” Eddie confirms, and Steve slowly lowers his hands.

“Steve…” Eddie asks while they walk back toward the kitchen to have lunch with the others, “Do you… do you have a tail?”

Eddie isn’t a scientist but he knows humans have no tails. Still. He saw Steve’s tail.

The other boy looks at him, his eyes wide with terror while he bites his lower lip, “Why are you asking?”

“I think I saw a tail when you covered your ears.”

“A tail? Does little Steve have a tail? Let's check!” Andy says, grabbing Steve's pants and trying to strip him in front of everyone.

“Let me go! Let me go!” Steve cries, kicking and screaming, but Andy and his friends have almost immobilized him.

“Stupid prick! Let Steve go!” Eddie yells, biting Andy’s arm. He will be kicked out of the camp but he doesn’t give a fuck. Steve is his friend and he won’t let anyone hurt him! But they are two against five, and there’s no way Eddie can manage to free Steve. Maybe if he ran toward the kitchen he could ask a counselor’s help.

Eddie doesn’t even have the time to make a plan that the slim pink tail appears once more and this time it grabs Andy’s ankle making him fall on the ground, then it yanks another boy until Steve is finally free and standing, moving his tail like a whip, threatening the boys to get closer.

“Steve?” Eddie calls, confused, and when the chestnut boy turns his eyes are big and wide, and his skin is a grayish color.

“Steve?” Eddie calls again.

“I’m sorry Eddie. My parents sent me here to learn how to survive your world.”

“In my world? What the hell are you saying?!”

Steve doesn’t have time to reply because a bright light starts to shine above them and when Eddie lifts his eyes a flying saucer is standing above them.

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, confused and terrified.

“Those are my parents. They came to take me away.” Steve replies, grabbing Eddie’s hand, “But don’t worry. We’ll meet again. I promise. Just… don’t whistle around me, ok?” the kid asks and then he disappears.

***

Years have passed since Eddie’s encounter with an alien, that’s what he’s convinced it was.

None at the camp did remember Steve when Eddie came back and even if he did numerous research about the mysterious boy or other alien appearances he never managed to find proof that it wasn’t just a kid's dream.

In the meantime, Eddie has become a writer, and most of his books are sci-fi books about a hero alien called: Steve.

He’s mindlessly signing some copy of his last novel, the same script with everyone, “Hey, thank you for coming. What’s your name?” and then writing the same custom dedication, “To (insert name). Thank you for being with me during this new adventure.”

Kimberly, Jonathan, Francis, one name after the other Eddie writes the same sentence over and over until a familiar voice makes him finally lift his head.

“Steve. Name is Steve.”

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